Last Friday saw me heading down to the Victoria Station to meet my nephew off the train from his home near the South Coast. This was, you understand, in lieu of his father, my brother, who had to attend to some business at work.
Elliot is in a not unusual position: he is the child of now divorced parents so has become used to this system of shuttling between one parent and the other. So, there I was, standing in the designated spot (between an escalator by W H Smith and a rather ignominious pillar) when he suddenly emerges from the crowd with his stepfather. We exchanged pleasantries before Elliot was officially passed to me in a manner reminiscent of some East German spy being handed over to the West at checkpoint Charlie. Am I showing my age here? Probably ....
